I’m going to cheat today, and instead of talking about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s canon, I’m going to post a few excerpts from mine. I’ve been moonlighting as a fanfiction writer for some time now, and my most popular story on fanfiction.net is called “The Science of Friendship,” which is about the BBC “Sherlock” show. I’ve been working on this story for over two years, and in that time, I’ve written a few Christmas chapters.

Note: I own nothing related to “Sherlock” and simply write fanfiction for my own amusement. In addition, this is not meant to be serious in any way, shape, or form, and various plot aspects are subject to change as the show continues.

Christmas Lists

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson

Sherlock,

I found your Christmas list. I had no idea you celebrated. Thank you for providing such a handy outline of your wishes. Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft will no doubt be pleased as well.

Watson

3 aubergine shirts, long-sleeved, button-down

1 set onyx block cufflinks

1 electronic Encyclopedia Britannica, updated

1 Apple iPhone 4

1 Bunsen burner

5 test tubes

1 scarf, check styles when not busy

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes

John,

You need hardly react so strongly to my scribbling. That list is anything but a “Christmas wish,” or whatever maudlin name you’d like to call it. It is simply a shopping list of things I need and intend to purchase in the next few weeks.

S.H.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson

Sherlock,

Very handy of you to list it all out like that. I’d strongly recommend against buying anything, or you’ll have duplicates come December 25th. Lestrade is picking the scarf. I’m sure you’ll be pleased.

Watson

To: John Watson

From: Sherlock Holmes

John,

Might you add a skull to the list?

S.H.

p.s. I am unsure how I am expected to respond, as I have received no gifts for the past ten years except Mrs. Hudson’s annual knitted hats.

To: Sherlock Holmes

From: John Watson

Sherlock,

Certainly not. Skulls do not mix with Christmas.

Watson

p.s. Saying thank you is usually well-received.

A Christmas Letter

I’m spending Christmas with my flatmate this year. You would have liked him, the way you always liked simple, unassuming, honest people. He’s bringing his girlfriend over; she’s cooking a turkey, just like you always tried to do and never could.

I don’t have a case. That’d be the best Christmas present, but it seems the Christmas spirit is infecting even the criminal classes and keeping them from transgressing the law in any but the most mundane ways.

If you were here, you’d ask why I’m not spending the day with Mycroft, even though it’s obvious. It always has been—obvious in the way we look at each other, the way we speak, the way our brains repel each other. We made you upset, angry, but it was you who made us come together. You had an ideal family in your head, but you couldn’t handle the reality. I frightened you, and Mycroft ran over you, just like our father did.

If you were a crime, you would be an everyday one—a smart woman, too weak to resist a man who was too much for her, who became the mother of archenemies. Easy. Boring.

Should be boring, but isn’t. If it was, I wouldn’t write to you on this day every year, trying to understand who you were, what secret feelings made you tear up when your sons lacerated each other with their verbal lances or what compulsion made you stay by the side of a man who treated you like a less-than-human. You should be simple, but I can never fully understand you, and you’re not here for me to observe, an unsolvable case.

I don’t know what to say to you, what you would have wanted to hear. I only know I want to tell you two things. I have a flatmate, and I am no longer alone.

Christmas Spirit

Oh, the loathsomeness of the holidays, with crowds of people pressing in to gaze upon horrible decorations and hear primary schoolchildren sing terribly. It wouldn’t be so bad except for the fact that most holiday crimes are sadly mundane affairs-teenagers absconding with other people’s Christmas gifts and the odd domestic dispute when families are forced into the same vicinity.

Of course, John, being the altogether sentimental man he is, is vastly fond of the holiday and insists that I compose a Christmas blog post for him. I consent in the Christmas spirit. Well, that and he’s bringing me my very own bottle of eggnog.

Without further adieu, here are three things I hate about Christmas:

1. Children: Most times of the year, I don’t hate children any more than I hate adults. Some of them are quite clever. The problem is, the holidays bring out rashes of them doing all sorts of “talents” and “pageants” so treacly that one is liable to vomit simply from watching them. Fortunately, I’ve found a way to turn this to my advantage. I actually do attend pageants, much to the surprise of John and Mrs. Hudson, but I do it so that I can pick out which children are likely to be advantageous parts of the Baker Street Irregulars, my youthful eyes and ears in the city.

2. Gifts: John is forever wanting me to make lists of things I want and expecting me to produce various superfluous items for those who surround me. I will never understand the popular prejudice against handing one another money or credit cards that allow us to purchase whatever we like. Better yet, we could all save our money and buy ourselves what we want.

3. Comfort and Joy: How obnoxious it is that one is expected to be cheerful during the Christmas season, as if one’s moods run according to the Roman calendar. During the month of December, I am subjected to all manner of back slaps and idiotic smiles and sugary confections, all with the object of making me “smile” or “feel the spirit of the season.” Even Inspector Lestrade, who is usually at least reasonably sedate, takes to grinning and showing pictures of his spawn wearing ridiculous red caps.

The saving grace in all of this is that Christmas comes but once a year.

This past week, I was tagged to do this by author Dan Andriacco of Baker Street Beat fame. The challenge is to post 7 things about yourself and tag seven more people to do the same. Without further ado:

1. I am related to US President James K. Polk.

2. My mother’s side of the family hails from Felda, Florida, a town (if you can call it that), which has one claim to fame–It’s the setting of Jason Aldean’s music video for the song “Hicktown,” because it so completely exemplifies the name.

3. I live ten minutes from inventor Thomas Edison’s winter estate, which is what inspired me to include him in my first novel about Sherlock Holmes.

4. I have active Crohn’s Disease, which means that I cannot eat most vegetables and have, at times, basically subsisted on a diet of macaroni and cheese.

5. I have a B.A. in professional communication that was earned at a total of three schools–Edison State College, Patrick Henry College, and Regent University.

6. I was homeschooled in first through fifth grade, seventh grade, and ninth and tenth grades. My junior and senior years were spent partly at home and partly dual enrolled in college.

7. I am a knitting fiend. I meet with a knitting group weekly and knit almost every evening at home.